PEOPLE & PLACES: THE ARGENTINEAN MUSICIAN
By Tamar Kevonian

es-the-argentinean-musician/
Mar 8th, 2010

There’s a deceptive lightheartedness to Levon that masks his serious
side. Of his three closest friends, he is the one that speaks the
least Armenian and generally does not participate in the discussions
taking place regarding life, community, and identity swirling around
the table at lighting speed; preferring to focus his attention on
his dinner. This, coupled with the fact that he makes goofy faces
in every photo ever taken of him, one would think that Levon was a
happy-go-lucky guy who didn’t take anything seriously.

In fact, all of the exterior mannerisms hide a much deeper and more
serious side to Levon, one which does not readily show itself. But
while sitting at a riverside cafe in the warm South American summer
sun while sipping a soda, this carefully hidden part of him slowly
seeps out.

Levon has a love for music that was inspired by the Ramones, a genre
defining punk band from the 1970’s and 1980’s, and he embodies their
spirit of freedom and defiance. Although he starting out playing
guitar, at the age of eleven he and his best friend, Juan, decided
to form a band and he became the drummer. "It was not about the
instrument. It was about the music. I wanted to be like the Ramones.

We are called Polka."

In 2003 he decided to see the world. He traveled to Europe and the
United States and came to the realization that he didn’t want to live
in Argentina anymore. "If I were in L.A., I’d have more chances to live
with the music. Here, I don’t know if I want to live for the music. But
there you know you can do it," he says, echoing the sentiment that
has brought many before him to the entertainment capital. "It’s not
about the money," he insists. "It’s nice to listen to your own music
on the radio."

He thinks Los Angeles is incredible but it becomes clear that he
is looking at it from the perspective of music. "The bands are very
professional. They have good instruments. They work. Here, it has to
be a hobby. And if you are lucky, maybe, it’s your job."

With such a long standing love of music, it’s not surprising that
Levon dreams of coming to Los Angeles, the place where many of rock and
rolls’ legends were born. But besides the music, he genuinely expresses
a love for the city that is rarely found in its own residents.

"What do you like about it?" I ask.

"Everything. Maybe I knew the people there. That was important." In
fact he already has a wide network of friends in L.A. where he has
visited several time. His knowledge of Glendale and its landmarks are
detailed, better than the native Glendale-tsi. But he claims it’s not
because of the Armenians that he likes the city. "I don’t care about
that," he says and pauses to reflect. "It’s very quiet." Compared to
hustle of busy Buenos Aires, Los Angeles, with its sprawling suburban
communities can seem like an oasis to the uninitiated.

"What do you like about Glendale?"

"Glendale Galleria. Americana," he says listing the well known sights
which he describes as "very nice." But is it enough to prompt a
young man to move to a new a new hemisphere leaving behind family
and friends?

"Did you meet a girl in Glendale?"

"No," he quickly responds. He would prefer to meet a girl in Buenos
Aires. "If I have to speak English all day, I will die," he says
dramatically in perfect English but is reluctant to continue this
line of dialogue.

Buenos Aires has a very large Armenian community, estimated to be
close to 100,000 people. Like all established communities, only a
fraction of that number remains active while the rest disperse and
eventually assimilate in the general population. Levon attended the
local Armenian school and his family is considered one of the active
ones in the community. When asked to compare the Armenians in his
community and the one in his dream city, Levon becomes hesitant
to discuss his impressions. "It’s a very long chat and you get
philosophical. It reminds me of being in Armenia. Everybody had to
be an Armenian. If the Genocide did not happen, we would all be there.

Strange that you go there and meet people, and you are like brothers.

I don’t like to take advantage of being Armenian." Meaning he doesn’t
expect everyone to associate with him simply because he is Armenian;
an approach he finds in every community. "Maybe you are not a good
guy. I prefer good guys who are Armenian."

He seems to have found that right combination in Juan, his best
friend. "We’ve known each other since we are three years old." It’s
a unique friendship were instead of growing apart as they matured,
they have become even closer developing similar interests in music,
travel, girls, love of community, and much more.

Although Levon believes that all Armenian communities are similar
because we all share the same background, he does think that such
a large community like the one in Los Angeles, brings about its own
set of problems such crime and a growing Armenian population in jails
and prisons. "We are a very small Armenian community here. We know
everybody. The bigger the community, the bigger the problems will be."

The most vexing problem Levon thinks his local community faces is its
fractiousness. "For example, if someone is Dashnak, they only go to
Dashnak events. That happens everywhere in the world. But it’s stupid.

I hate it. It’s stupid to mix politics with feelings. Being an
Armenian, it’s a feeling. You have to feel it. Armenians have to
be united and they are separated by what they think. You have to
be united." He doesn’t believe the goal of his people should be the
Genocide but rather to introduce it to everybody in the world that is
not Armenian. "It’s a good culture. I am proud of being an Armenian. I
want everybody to know it. Why Jewish people have to be known and not
Armenians? Why English people have to be known and not Armenians? When
I was a kid, they said Armenian culture is incredible. If you believe
that, then spread it."

Now the discussion has veered dangerously close to being too serious
and when asked if he can imagine what a perfect Armenian community
would be like in Buenos Aires he replies that he doesn’t know.

"Because it’s not the problem of Armenians, it’s the problem of the
human race. It’s very theoretical."

"And no more serious talking!" he proclaims with a laugh and reaches
for the tall, glass of ice cold soda slowly melting in front of him.